That alternate reality

Words and phrases that seem bandied about a lot in these critical times are “alternate reality” and “distanced.” I was acutely aware of the alternate realities in my world today. Woke to yet another thunderstorm, though it did “fair off” nicely and was sunny and warming up by noon.

But what got me was the distance between my reality and our world. I am isolated here in my cottage, reminding myself uncomfortably of that young boy who lived in a bubble back—when was it?—the ‘70s? I am quite comfortable, feel safe, have the company of my family, and am fairly content. My fear is that complacency will overcome me, though when Jordan brought in ground meat from the grocery tonight, I did chastise her for not separating touching the wrapping and touching the meat. But in general, I feel safe. She is inordinately careful and takes good care of me—and I am blessed.

Still, there’s always a bit of guilt with the feeling of being so comfortable when others are suffering. That feeling spurred me to make my annual contribution to my church last night, even though this is a difficult time for all of us financially.

On the other hand, I turn to my computer and realize the horror in the world around us. The number of cases of COVID-19 rises exponentially, as do the deaths. People are in desperate circumstances, hospitals are stressed beyond endurance, and the world is in a general mess. Suffering and loss and heartbreak that I cannot wrap my mind around. And here I sit, like a little princess. I am acutely aware of that distance.

I am also acutely aware of my temporary inability to concentrate on my work. There is a lot I could be doing, but in this time when the ordinary world is suspended, I don’t feel the urgency that I usually do. I can fiddle away the day, listening to videos that as Jordan points out only tell me what I already know about the disease. But the idea of doing research, picking up the threads of my professional life sometimes seems daunting. Shoot! I had to make myself clean off my desk-top greenhouse and clean my desk. Ulterior motive: we will go to church—or at least I will—in my cottage tomorrow. Jordan last week took a picture of my computer with the service, and I realized what a mess my desk was. So I have resolved to clean it before tomorrow’s remote service. And tonight I did do a bit of research reading.

Back to reality: Jordan and I made grocery lists tonight. In an uncharacteristic burst of planning, we listed meals for the coming week and then planned what we needed. Then, with computers at the ready, we crafted orders for Central Market (mine) and Tom Thumb (hers). But it was a discouraging experience—ordinary things were not offered, like Monterrey Jack cheese or a Boston butt pork roast. How can we make carnitas?

And when I went to submit my Central Market order, I got the message that no time slots are available. I’m a big CM fan, and I have sensed that HEB was doing a better job than most, but Central Market really disappointed me.

Besides, Jordan and I had anticipated a holiday dinner all week. We ordered a turkey breast and were going to make turkey and gravy, dressing, green bean casserole—the whole nine yards. When we picked up groceries today—ordered ten days ago—there was no turkey breast, no substitution.  Hard times for all of us.

And yet I hate to whine. See where I’m coming from? I am so much more comfortable and safer than most, that I have no right to complain. Something that came into the conversation last night as we enjoyed happy hour led Jordan to say, “Those are such first world problems.” And that’s where my conscience is. With a lot of prayers.

And no, I don’t believe the pastor who says this is God’s wrathful vengeance. My God is not that harsh and unloving.